


Suck on This

by Schmuzz



Series: La Petite Mort [1]
Category: Rooster Teeth/Achievement Hunter RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-22
Updated: 2014-04-22
Packaged: 2018-01-20 09:05:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1504652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Schmuzz/pseuds/Schmuzz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ryan is a vampire and Michael is totally okay with that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Feel free to follow my rt sideblog on tumblr (teamcrazydicks.tumblr.com) where you can get fic updates sooner and prompt me if you want.

There are times when you feel as though you’re in danger – your muscles clench, and your ears will prick and twitch at the tiniest sound. You’ll ball your hands into fists and lean forward, as though about to run. Fight or flight, your mind wonders which to pick.

Of course, for me, nothing truly life-threatening has ever happened. Not really; maybe I walk alone late at night or maybe I’m being driven by someone who shouldn’t have a license, but nothing  _really_  happens. The instances where your body is on high alert don’t stop, though. Reacting as such was just an instinct, one that would naturally manifest the second before someone (Gavin) snuck up on me or the moment after I got hit with something (also probably by Gavin).

But now, I was looking at Ryan and observing the signs of my own body - the tight muscles and deep breathing, the urge to do anything but stand still - and I realized that the fabricated moments of panic I had been so used to were miles away from what I was dealing with now.

Because Ryan was sauntering over to me in long, slow steps. Like he had all the time in the world. His eyes were shiny and every second that passed made them grow darker. I swore I saw a flash of teeth peeking out from his lips.

"Are you scared yet?" Ryan asked me. He was an arm’s length away from me now, and I couldn’t help but think for a second that yes, yes I was.

“No,” I retorted, rubbing my thumb along the ridge of my fingers, an anxious tick. Ryan’s face ducked to track the movement, making me abruptly stop. When Ryan looked up at me again he was smirking, and his eyes, usually an impure shade of blue, were black, as though his pupils had spilled out into his irises. I didn’t mean to but I flinched, just a little, when I saw that.

I had nearly abandoned the idea that this was an elaborate prank when Ryan showed me the freezer in his basement filled with blood – pig’s blood, according to Ryan, he even had a receipt from an out of town butcher taped to one of the bags. And maybe that could be fake, and there were fake teeth and changing color contacts, and that certainly would explain everything in a much more logical way than Ryan Haywood being a fucking creature of the night and all that other teenage fantasy bullshit. But…

Ryan, who was prone to saying macabre shit, never exuded the sense of predatory threat before. Not like this. No offense to him, but I didn’t think Ryan was that good of an actor; if he was, he would be on Burnie’s side of the company more often. I didn’t want to believe it, because it made me seem like a gullible asshole, but if Ryan really was pulling a trick, then I could at least play along for a while longer.

“So is this the part where you’re like, ‘you know too much’ and you kill me?” I said. I tried to sound apathetic, but we were alone in Ryan’s house on a Saturday afternoon. I was pressed up against the kitchen counter and Ryan, whether or not he possessed some super vampiric powers or some shit, would be able to stop me from getting away.

“I don’t think it would be a smart idea to eat one of my co-workers.”

“Well that’s a fucking relief,” I said.

He furrowed his eyebrows. “You sound unconvinced.”

“About your condition or whatever the fuck it was? If I didn’t I’d be pretty fucking stupid,” I said. “…But you have a point. About the not eating me thing. I mean, if you  _were_  a vampire, either way I would appreciate it if you didn’t.” Ryan looked puzzled at my words.

“I like you, why would I want to eat you?”

“Don’t you need blood to like, make you live?” Ryan sighed and crossed his arms.

“Sorta,” he said, dragging out the word as though he himself was unsure. He backed away from me, and walked over to the other edge of the counter. Maybe I was imagining things, but it was like his eyes had gone light again. “You’ve seen those documentaries on Vlad the Impaler and all those other supposed historical vampires, right?”

“Yeah, like they’d slaughter people and put their heads on pikes. That isn’t very reassuring for me, Ryan.”

“I meant the part where they said they would bathe in their blood.”

“Oh. Well. That’s totally fine.” Ryan just rolled his eyes at me and it was like everything was back to normal again and we were just having a friendly, if odd, conversation.

“It’s… well you see it in a lot of cultures, where people believed that using blood or someone’s organs would bring them power or keep them young or something.” He put out his hand, palm up, then the other as he spoke. “It’s like this: The blood is a catalyst for the youth and the power. Without it, you age, you die, you turn to dust forever. Like normal people. Without it, you have the same strength as a normal person your age.”

“How old are you?” I asked.

“Thirty-two.”

“…How long have you been thirty-two?”

“Cut that shit out, Michael.”

“It’s a legitimate question!” I said. “I mean, are you secretly four centuries old? Were you really born in Georgia, or are you from like, Scotland from the 1400s? As your friend, Ryan, I need to know this.” Ryan continued to look unimpressed.

“I’m thirty-two. I… I changed about a decade ago. Old girlfriend.” He waved his hand. Of course fucking Ryan Haywood would be nonchalant about getting turned into a goddamn vampire. Maybe.

“Well, for what it’s worth,  _I_  think you don’t look a day over thirty,”

Ryan smiled. “Thank-you, Michael.”

“So, uh, what’s the blood for, then?”

Ryan swallowed. “You don’t  _technically_  need blood to live. But there’s something – like an itch.” I looked at him.

“An itch?”

“You ever see something, Michael? Or think about something that you wanted really  _really_  badly? And it consumes your thoughts and your appetite for whole parts of the day?”

“Like, when I’m super hungry, I guess,” I shrugged, and noticed Ryan’s pose has started to change again, going from loose and normal to straight and… intimidating. I reminded myself again that Ryan couldn’t be this good at acting, and that despite the casualness of the past few minutes, this may not be a joke.

“But it goes away, right? You can sate it or forget about it.” I shrugged again, silently agreeing. Suddenly Ryan was crowding in on my space once more, the warmth of his body was apparent, as embarrassed as I was to realize something like that. He was looming again, and as much as I wanted to look away from the ferocity in his stare I couldn’t – I didn’t want to be caught feeling afraid again, after all. I didn’t move my hands or twitch or anything. “Because for me, unless I can get rid of the feeling, it just gets stronger, and stronger, and stronger.”

“How often do you get an itch?” I asked, keeping my voice steady.

“It depends. Usually takes a week, maybe more, or less. The animal blood is more of a suppressant than something that actually does any good.”

“So you’ve never bitten a person before?”

At that Ryan smiled again. It was far different from the last time. His mouth curled slowly and the shape his lips took on was sinister, as though he had missed making a grimace by just that much. The first thing that I thought of, unbidden and random, was the Mad King Ryan – and not the one that I played games with, but the twisted interpretations the fans liked to indulge in, instead; a Ryan on a throne, holding a sword dripping in blood, Ryan licking red from his skin and looking right at me while he did it.

Ryan, mouth soaking up my blood, smiling.

 I couldn’t help it. I shivered.

“It’s been years, of course,” His mouth was brushing against my ear. When did he move? Did he? Or had I leaned in towards him? I felt bleary, hazy, as though to focus on one detail I had to cut out everything else around me, but to be honest sometimes I got the same sensation whenever I was with Ryan for a long time. The peculiar feeling of being close to someone you liked – really liked – in whatever way. Somehow it had descended, going alongside my wariness and making me afraid still, but willing to enjoy how close, how quiet, Ryan was being with me. “I know we joke about it, but I never hurt anyone. I only need to take a little, after all.” I felt the corner of something sharp grazing against my ear and I jumped, face flushing.

Ryan looked down at me and smiled again. Less treacherous this time, and maybe smug instead. “Your eyes…” I started. Ryan touched his fingers to his temple, as though he could determine the color from doing that. “They’re black. Do they do that?”

“Only,” He moved his hand to touch his chin, his neck, and his mouth was slightly open as he did so. “Only when I see something I really want a taste of,” he murmured, and against the sunlight streaming in through the window I could see that his canines were longer and sharper than a human’s should ever be. I swallowed, and Ryan’s eyes were locked longingly on my throat. I watched him watch me, and I was still scared, but the thought of him staring longingly at any part of me – there was something appealing about that, too, and I felt hot under his heavy gaze.

It seemed he was struggling to do so, but after a few moments he met my stare. “Don’t worry,” he breathed. “I have great self-control. I won’t bite you.”

“Not even if I ask nicely?” My voice was as low and as quiet as his was, but we both knew exactly what I said. Maybe someone else could have said it and meant it as a joke, but I knew I really meant it.

And Ryan knew that too.

“You would let me?” Ryan asked, pulling back to stare into my eyes. This close I could see a minute ring lining the blackness, and I realized that his pupils really  _had_  bled out – to catch better sight of prey, I suppose. My jaw clenched at the thought.

“Yeah. Just a little, right?” I ventured softly. Ryan’s stare raked over my face, my neck, my chest. He landed back to my hands which were squeezing the edge of the counter I was against. “It - it doesn’t hurt, right? Like a lot?” I knew that even if it did, I still wanted him to do this. I began to question if Ryan was manipulating my thoughts. He held out his hand, and after a moment I slowly unstuck my left hand from the countertop and placed it in Ryan’s grasp. His skin was warm, soft. My palm was upwards and his fingers gently dragged along the veins of my wrist, pressing along my pulse point.

“If it does, I’ll kiss it better,” he said, smirking. “The worst that’ll happen is you might get light-headed. If you feel dizzy, tell me, and I’ll stop, okay?” He looked up at me again.

“Yeah, fuck, okay.” My other hand was white-knuckling the granite counter as his mouth ducked closer to my skin. He ran his tongue along the top of my wrist and I twitched. “Oh shit,” I said, mostly to myself. He cast me an amused glance and, I didn’t know if it was to tease me or because he genuinely felt the urge, he pressed an open-mouth kiss to the same place. Then another, just his lips. His other hand was propping up my elbow now and I realized that once he started, I wouldn’t be able to stop him, not physically anyway. I imagined trying to struggle and his fangs slicing through my veins like scissors with thread. Until this moment I always thought the popular connotation between sex and death was bullshit – la petite mort? What the fuck did the French know, anyway? Sex was about feeling alive, and death was just… wasting away somewhere, and from what I could tell, the latter never made anyone come. But the idea of Ryan slowly taking away what I needed to live… God, what was he doing to me? “Ryan, Ryan,” I rasped out. He was still pressing his lips against my skin. Not biting, though sometimes I could still feel the impression of his teeth, a reminder of what was to come. “I need to ask you…” He looked up at me, expression as intense as ever. “Out of all the freaky vampire superpowers you may or may not have – hypnotism or thrall or whatever the fuck it is isn’t one of them, right?”

Ryan tilted his head, then smiled. It was a mix between affectionate and evil, and he went back to nuzzling my hand. “Oh Michael,” he muttered into my wet skin, “If I could do that, this wouldn’t be the first time I would be doing this to you.” He pulled away just slightly, my heart racing from his words and from the way his fangs became more pronounced until –

I looked away at the last second. Whatever, from the moment his teeth sunk into me I knew this wouldn’t be the last time I would let him do this.

There was pain – not unlike getting a shot. It pierced the skin, lingered for a while, then faded, but Ryan was still pressed against my wrist, and I could hear him swallowing me down. I felt flushed and longed to jerk my hand away, but again I imagined his teeth dragging into my veins. My heart fluttered rapidly, sensing an attack, and once again I felt the urge to fight or flee and once again I knew I would not, could not do either.

I was lost in the sensation of his hands steadily holding my arm, of his body pressed close and his mouth sucking a hole into me. Was it that or the blood loss that making me dizzy? I unstuck my other hand from the counter and let it drop to my side, letting out a long breath in something a louder than a sigh as I lazily watched what Ryan was doing to me. My mind felt like it was buried, everything I was seeing was two minutes out of date and my thoughts wiped out completely. Nothing hurt, and the distant reminder that I was slowly losing what I needed to live, that I was being leisurely and lovingly murdered made my lower stomach clench. But the wrist wasn’t even that intimate of a place; what would it feel like to have Ryan dig into my throat or – I shuttered again – my thigh? I felt my knees bend at the thought and I knew that no matter how sweet this felt, I ought to speak up.

Just another minute, though. I let my head rest against the hanging cabinet, lolling to the side. Fuck, would he do this to me again? On the weekend, in the middle of work, late at night to help me sleep, whenever I wanted? My skin full of punctures and bruises from how tight he would hold me, too dependent on him to go anywhere else. I actually did moan at the thought – maybe I could get off to this. But at the same time I promised just a minute, and I could hardly hold my head up anymore. So “Ryan, Ryan, come on,” I muttered, and I shook my unused arm, eventually putting it against Ryan’s cheek.

I didn’t feel him stop – maybe I couldn’t. But I opened my eyes some seconds later and Ryan was just ducked over my wrist, staring up at me with his black hole eyes, mouth smeared red.

He licked the skin of my wrist, still staring at me, and I sighed, or whimpered, or both in turn. Slowly he put my bitten arm down at my side, and he stepped closer to me. Our thighs were touching and I hoped he would just slot his thigh between my legs and finish me off.

Instead he asked, “Are you alright?” Hearing his voice was almost as good.

“Shouldn’t have waited as long as I did…” I breathed. My limbs seemed to have fallen asleep and I clumsily raised my unbitten arm to scrub my face. “Sorry. Felt too good.” I heard Ryan breathe in sharply, but now I was starting to feel tired, and instead I hoped for somewhere to lie down. “Can I… Can I go to sleep now?” I asked him.

“Sure,” he said. I felt his arms haul me into a standing position and lead me away. I glanced back, and saw a few spatters of my blood on the kitchen floor.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is a tentative note that I might continue this story at a later date, make it a series - I'm open to suggestions on what should feature next (I imagine this includes writing actual sex but whatever).
> 
> Feel free to follow my rt sideblog on tumblr (teamcrazydicks.tumblr.com) where you can get fic updates sooner and prompt me if you want.

When I woke up my head pounded. “Ah, shit,” I said into the pillow. It didn’t smell like mine, and when I really concentrated I realized that the bed wasn’t mine, either. A second later the memories came flooding back: Ryan’s secret, Ryan’s teeth, the feeling that I was dying and helpless and how it was practically sex in a fucked up sort of way, how Ryan guided me to his bedroom and tucked me in. The most glaring feature from my memories, though, was how I wanted more. More of Ryan breathing wetly against my skin, the gentle hint of death that he would drag along my neck, my stomach, anywhere really, because I had no intention of stopping him. Before my feelings for Ryan were latent and vague; I liked him, but didn’t waste my time dwelling on it. Now I couldn’t help but fantasize, not just about him biting me, either. Letting him drink my blood was intimate enough that fucking felt like going backwards, but God I wanted that, too. Wanted everything in fact. My skin prickled and without even thinking about it my hips gave a lazy thrust into the mattress, making me groan into Ryan’s pillow, clasping the edges of it and burrowing into the softness. 

I was tempted, so fucking tempted to mindlessly rut into the other man’s mattress until I exploded, because that’s what I certainly felt like I was going to do. But the heat was mostly gravitated towards my abdomen, unwilling to spread down further and do anything more than make my cock twitch. I let out a long breath; my pulse beat along the inside of my skull, trying to get out. The more it continued the more it hurt. It made me want Ryan, not to bite me, not to fuck me either, but as a reassuring presence, maybe, someone to take care of me until the pain went away.

God, I felt pathetic, needing him so much. I could pin it on some mental state of willingly having your blood drained, but who was I kidding? If Ryan was a complete stranger and did that to me, I would be feeling a much different range of emotions.

I rolled onto my side. The idea of sitting up and actually tracking down Ryan seemed like an impossible task. I struggled to curl the blankets around me, instead, and fell back asleep.

 …

The next time I woke up I knew Ryan was with me; I could feel the depression on the mattress, I felt his hand press on my shoulder. My head was still thumping; it was almost like being hungover. Still, I didn’t feel as exhausted as before. Instead I was mostly hungry. “How long was I asleep?” I asked slowly, more into the pillow than to Ryan.

“About five hours,” he said. I slowly raised my head. The lights were off in the bedroom, most details obscured. The shades were drawn but slivers of orange light peered through; it was around seven, maybe, the sun nearly gone. I rolled over. Ryan moved his hand but stayed sitting on the bed, eyes on me. “How are you feeling?”

I didn’t want to lie. “Kind of shitty. Is that normal?”

“It depends on how much I take.”

“How much  _did_  you take?” Ryan looked thoughtful for a moment.

“More than a typical donation to a blood bank, less than anything that would land you in a hospital.” He raised his hand a few inches before lowering it to the bed again. “You might be feeling tired for most of the week. Sorry about that. I – well I’m not really used to,” He sighed. “I should’ve stopped sooner.”

I rolled my head and looked around the room. The door was open, leading into a hallway; this was the second floor, I imagined. There didn’t seem to be a single light on; I wondered if Ryan did that to help me sleep, or if he was actually averse to bright lights. If he was, I didn’t know how he managed the influx of stage lights from the office. Glancing at Ryan, he was as normal as ever; brushed back hair, open, kind face, blue eyes, body relaxed and slouched beside me.

“I liked it,” I offered. “I’d do it again. Not now but… soon.” Ryan straightened.

“Really? You’re sure? Some people, I mean, I think some people only like it at the time, and afterwards they never want to bother with it again.” I couldn’t help but think about the sparse dizzying moments of when I woke up last time, when just the memory of Ryan’s mouth digging into my skin was enough to make me push into the sheets. I was still too tired to feel like doing anything now, though, but I wanted to, so badly…

“Is it normal for people to like getting bit?” He shrugged.

“I wouldn’t know.  _I_  liked it, back – before I got turned into a creature of the night and everything,” He shook his hands for effect and I laughed. “Most of the people I’ve bitten tend to struggle the whole time or, well, at least at first. To be fair not all of them knew about my  _condition_ , they just thought I was being too rough. I’ve met a few people who seem into it from the start.” Ryan glanced pointedly at me. “You were,” he said.

“I know,” I felt the back of my neck get hot. “But still liking it afterwards?”

“Yeah that’s… not as widespread, I mean, as far as I’ve seen. Which isn’t all that much.” I sunk into the bed, dragging my bitten arm out from under the covers so I could examine it. There was a large band-aid where my pulse was, and the rest of the area was no longer smeared red. “You were pretty much asleep by the time I got you in here,” Ryan explained, looking at my arm, “I cleaned it up a little.”

“Are there punctures?”

“Yeah, they heal kind of slowly. I don’t have any magic healing spit, sorry. But it won’t hurt unless you press down on it.” I rubbed my thumb experimentally over the bandage, not exerting any pressure, just testing to see how it felt. My skin tingled slightly, as though warning me to be careful, but otherwise it felt fine. I looked up at Ryan.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,”

“Before, you told me your eyes get black when you see something you like,” My head was still thrumming restlessly as I spoke, and I self-consciously trailed towards the window. I knew how I felt about Ryan, but how did I know that he wanted more than to just drink my blood? I told him I liked it, but I didn’t say I liked  _him_. “Were you talking about me or just my – I mean I’m fine either way, I just thought you should know that I also like, um.” I trailed off, and I felt as though I was drowning amidst all of the blankets. When my eyes flicked over to Ryan I saw him bear down on me with a grim sort of attentiveness. I could imagine the excuses now, how he would explain that sucking blood was intimate in another sense, it didn’t  _mean_  anything, it didn’t guarantee feelings for him or –

Ryan shifted suddenly, and he was on me in an instant. Literally covering me, and maybe the idea of vampire powers couldn’t be written off just yet. He kneeled over my face, legs bracketing mine, hands along my cheeks and fingers curling into my hair and I couldn’t even breathe. His eyes had grown dark again; not like when he was feeding but nearly there. I could feel his exhales hitting my chin he was so close.

“Michael,” he said. I could practically swallow down the words as he spoke them. “The blood is one thing but – I haven’t had it in years,  _years._  I never would have tried anything with you but,” I felt one of his hands run along my hair. I wanted to close my eyes and lean into the touch, but I stared at Ryan instead, desperate for him to finish his thought. “I just wanted to be close to you, not because of your blood, it wasn’t even on the radar. I just wanted you and then it got to the point where I just had to tell you, I wanted you to know because the idea of sharing something with you that no one else knew about…” He bit his lip for a moment, and I shyly smiled up at him, hoping to get him to carry on. “When you wanted me to bite you, when you said you liked it – I… I didn’t realize we could be this close. That you would want it.” He ducked even closer, if that was possible. I felt his lips brush mine, not a kiss, not yet. “But now that I know… I want everything you think you can give me. Friends, biting, anything. As much or as little as you want. If… if that’s okay?” He sobered, apparently realizing that he was pressing me down into the bed. His arms started to move away, he started to sit up.

Oh, fuck that. I wrapped my arms around the back of his neck and pulled as hard as I could, his mouth smashing into mine. God, it felt good. His hands came back to my hair, and along the side of my neck. When I felt his thumb press along my pulse there I shuttered. I wondered if I would just be hardwired that way from now on; getting hot whenever it was made apparent of what was in my veins, that I had something Ryan was so desperate to suck out. Fuck, I hoped so. I ran my hand along his back, under the shirt he was wearing, feeling his spine as he leaned over me. “It’s more than fuckin’ okay,” I said against his lips. He let out a small, approving noise and pressed his mouth into mine, over and over. I felt hazy again, my headache forgotten. My nails gently scratched down Ryan’s back and I felt like I never had to move from this spot.

Eventually, Ryan pulled away. I liked to think it was unwillingly, but even I had to gasp a bit to catch my breath. He looked as flustered as I was, his mouth shined in the fading light from the sun. I moved up to kiss him, but his weight made it hard to move much, and when he moved even farther away I could only sink back against the mattress again.

“Well…” His hands were on my chest. I blinked up at him, and he looked over his shoulder. “It’s late,” he said.

“Are you kicking me out?” I asked. Ryan looked back at me.

“I didn’t want to keep you here if… I mean we don’t have to rush into this.” I raised one eyebrow.

“Yeah okay, you say that after getting a free meal, and you think you can just send me home with blue balls? I don’t think so. Here, let me up, we’re going to dinner.”

Ryan slowly moved to the side. “Dinner?”

“Yeah, like the thing that comes after lunch. We can call it a date so you don’t feel like you’re taking advantage of me and I can get my blood sugar levels up. How does that sound?”

“…Like a good idea,” Ryan admitted. I swung my legs over the bed and stood up. I waited for a minute, but no overbearing sense of dizziness came over me. “Got a place in mind?” he asked, standing up himself.

“Can we get Whattaburger?”

“Um, okay,”

“It’s red meat, Ryan. It’s good for you.”

“And the fries?”

“Obviously a refined and delicious serving of vegetables.” I started to walk out of the room, but turned back at the last moment. Ryan was putting on some sneakers when he saw me looking. “Hey,” I asked quietly, leaning against the doorframe. “Can, uh, we head back here after?”

Ryan thought about it for a moment before he snorted. “What, for desert?”

“Oh. Well we could have that too, like, after we fuck. If that’s okay. You shouldn’t have sex on a full stomach, Ryan.”

“Oh my God,” he muttered, walking towards me. “Okay, fine, sounds like a good plan.”

“I know, right? This is about to be the best fucking Saturday you’ve ever had.” Ryan hummed and shut the bedroom door behind him.

“Don’t know what I’d do without you Michael,” he said. His voice was warm and affectionate despite the sarcasm. He led me down the hall, towards the staircase, his hand low on my back as though we had been doing this for years. I bit the inside of my cheek, hand sliding easily along the banister.

Who knew? Maybe one day, we would be.


End file.
